An Anatomy of a World
by rmartin318
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione is off to retrieve her parents. But who is left repairing the castle? A confused Draco Malfoy finds himself assisting McGonagall, and learning a thing or two while he's at it.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, all. I still have another story I am working on—chapter's nearly finished, honest. But, this idea came to me and wouldn't leave. So, I'm going to be writing this fic mostly as an exercise to make myself write every day or at least every other day. So, the chapters could be as little as a paragraph or two, to a bit longer, like this one. And there may be quite a few mistakes. No promises. But, I'm putting it out here anyway, because reviews make me feel like I need to keep going. So, Cheers! Let me know what you think. **

**Thanks.**

In the aftermath of the Great Battle of Hogwarts, a lonely boy sat bereaved. His white blonde hair that had been strewn in the wind offset his silver eyes, a mistiness about them betraying his turmoil. His side had lost. Lost.

Though every fiber of his cowardly being hoped for the Dark Lord to lose, his sense of logic wouldn't allow him to truly believe he would. A seventeen-year-old reckless Gryffindor was never supposed to overcome the seventy-ish Heir of Slytherin and by far the most powerful wizard alive, since Dumbledore's demise.

Dumbledore, there's another thought he tried to ignore that sat heavy in his storm of deeds he wishes undone. If only he had taken him up on that offer before Snape had arrived at the tower...

The young man sat surrounded by the survivors, of both sides, some being arrested at wand point, others wailing in lament. He, himself, watched his own father carted off while his mother clung to the hem of the evil man's robes, desperately trying to follow him. The Ministry granted that wish all too easily, the boy thought. They had taken her too.

He knew she would not face as many charges as his blatantly guilty father, having never taken the mad man's mark herself, but nevertheless, he was alone in the world. No family, no friends. If he had ever even had any friends. Slytherins, by trade, didn't often have friendships, but when they did they were immensely powerful. However, this young wizard had never experienced that and even seeing it in others' friendships confused him. Especially his arch-nemesis and company.

Hours after the first wave of wizards began to leave, he remained. He remained motionless as the more influential members of the war left. He continued sitting in the same spot, a hidden alcove across from the Great Hall, as the last few members of the Order of the Phoenix left. And when the last two stragglers, a certain green-eyed savior and his bushy haired sidekick approached the Headmistress right outside his cocoon, he sat as still as the statue next to him.

"But, Professor McGonagall, what about the school?" asked the young witch, her bushy head carrying leaves and sticks in its mass.

The new Headmistress responded soberly, "The school is in no shape to re-open anytime soon, I'm afraid."

"What about our N.E.W.T.s! How will I get a job if I haven't completed them?" He could hear in her voice that she had begun to panic, in a typical academic tantrum from the girl. Like her deeds of the past year would not be taken into consideration... the blonde wizard chuckled to himself. Some things never change.

"Calm down, Miss Granger. The school will open eventually, and you will be invited to return for your seventh year. In the meantime, however, you will just have to get by on your accolades alone. You, too, Mr. Potter."

The curiously quiet green-eyed boy nodded. "I wasn't planning on returning this soon anyway."

His companion about burst a gasket at this news. "Harry! What were you planning on doing then? You have to have an education. No one will take you seriously if you don't take your N.E.W.T.s!"

In a dead-panned response, he said, "I just defeated the darkest wizard of all time, Hermione. Of. All. Time. I think they will most likely take that into consideration, don't you?"

"You can't live off this forever, you know. You've seen how fickle the public can be. They forget in an instant, the second a piece of bad press is reported, you're the attention-seeking leper again."

"I know." He replied, dejectedly.

"Well, Mr. Potter," The Headmistress began, attempting to play the peacemaker, "What were you planning on doing for the next year or two, then, if you weren't going to return to Hogwarts?"

The blonde boy had been wondering the same thing, and was glad she asked.

"I'm going to travel the world a bit. I'm not ready to go out there and have everyone kiss up to me. I don't want to hear their thanks, or listen to their criticisms. I need some time just for me. I finally have this huge weight off me, and I don't want to waste this second chance I've been given by immediately settling down. I want to see the world, China, Japan, Australia—"

"Australia?" cut in the young witch.

"Yes, Australia. Merlin! The moon and Timbuktu if I can manage it! I've never left England, Hermione! I've been in about three places my entire life: with the Dursleys in Surrey, at Hogwarts, and a few weeks in Diagon Alley in London. I want to get out, see things, and experience life."

"I have an idea." She started, "And you can say no, and I will completely understand, so don't worry about that."

"Just tell me what it is, 'Mione."

"Well, what if you started this grand tour of the world in Australia? I need to go there to retrieve my parents anyway, and I really would rather not go alone. This way you'd be with me, and you would ease yourself into your journey by starting off with someone you're comfortable with. What do you say?"

There was a brief pause, in which the hidden wizard wondered why the girl's parents were in Australia—weren't they muggles? Is it common for muggles to need to be 'retrieved' from other continents? Then his line of thought was interrupted when the other wizard finally answered his friend.

"Yeah, alright. I have to start somewhere, and you've done so much for me already, I can do this for you. Besides, it's probably best to start in a country where they speak the Queen's English."

"Oh, great, Harry! I can't wait to find them. I just hope they won't be too angry."

After briefly forgetting the Headmistress was also in the conversation, the blonde was reminded when he heard her ask tentatively "Why would your parents be angry with you Miss Granger? Surely, they'll be ecstatic you are alive after all this mess."

"Oh. Well, you see... I sort of... obliviated them, Professor."

"You did?"

"Yes, I erased myself from their memories and created a new identity for them and they moved to Australia. I just couldn't bear the thought of them being killed because of me. This way, they would be harder to track, and..." she paused. Then added in a more cynical tone, wizened by months of war, "And if they were to be captured, they wouldn't be able to give any information about Harry if they had none at all."

There was an awkward silence, while the other two let that soak in.

But soon enough Professor McGonagall broke the silence, "That was extremely dangerous of you, Miss Granger, but under the circumstances I can't see any better alternative. I admire that you had the gumption to think of that, and the courage to execute it."

"Thank you, Professor." Her protégé replied, her voice laced with genuine gratitude.

It made the blonde a bit nauseous, to be honest.

"So what are you going to do, Professor? How are you going to re-build the school?" The young man added to the conversation.

The old woman responded tiredly, "I'll have to re-build it myself. You can't re-build Hogwarts with magic, you know. For the wards to work properly you have to manually repair the school, one brick at a time, only then can you add the wards to the entire thing. Any magic used in the building process is cancelled out as soon as the main wards are cast. If done improperly, the entire building could collapse."

The young witch gasped, and the hidden youth scoffed at her histrionics. "So you're going to repair the entire building—by hand—and by yourself? Why can't you have help? There are loads of people who would want to help rebuild the school. Everyone loves Hogwarts!"

"Yes, I know they would gladly help, but I can't supervise them all at once and I can't trust them not to cheat with magic."

"Surely if you explained why they couldn't use magic—" the boy began, only to be cut off by his professor.

"Yes, it would do to tell hundreds of half-hearted volunteers that the wards on Hogwarts are non-existent while we re-build the school. If any of the Death Eaters had escaped the Battle, they would immediately attack the building again, as soon as it got out that there are no protective wards on Hogwarts now. No, no, we cannot afford to let vital information like that out. And out it would get out, too. You know the propensity for gossip in our world."

The two younger participants were silent for a moment, lost in their thoughts. The blonde boy, also, was thinking quite hard about something. No, she would never… but what if…? A seedling of an idea began to take root in his mind.

"What if I came to help you, Professor? After I find my parents I can come back here and help."

"That's very generous, Miss Granger, but you didn't come out of this war just to leave your parents again, minutes after finding t hem. No, no, dear child, you need to spend some time with them. I won't have it any other way." She insisted, quite strongly. "Besides, I have a candidate in mind for an assistant, already. I'm sure he would help me."

"Who?" asked the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Annoy.

"You'll just have to see, won't you Mr. Potter?" She teased. "Now, then, the two of you have spent too much time here already. There is nothing more that you can do, and I know you must be beyond exhausted. You both have circles under your eyes that suggest you are more raccoon than you are people right now. So, go on then. I'm sure you have a lot of packing to do."

"You're right, Professor, I think I'm going to sleep clear into next week." Said the boy. "Well, not without trying at least." He added with a pleased laugh.

"So if the wards are down, we can just apparate from here?" his bushy haired friend asked.

"Yes, that's correct, Miss Granger."

"Okay, well, thank you for everything Professor. And do not hesitate to owl me should you need any help."

"I'll keep that in mind. In the meantime, I'll be fine. Hopefully I will see you as Head girl in a year or two, depending on how fast I can repair this castle."

"Head girl, really? How—"

"Yes, really, dear girl. Now, off. Both of you. I need to start cleaning this mess."

With a few more goodbyes, the hidden blonde heard the distinct sound of disapparation, and let out the breath he had been unknowingly holding.

A few seconds went by, and the Headmistress had yet to move from where she had been standing. He wondered to himself why she would just be standing there, not moving. From the conversation he had overheard, she had someone to owl. Her assistant wasn't just going to show up without knowledge that he needed to be here. So why was she hesitating?

"Mr. Malfoy? You can come out now." He heard, and his heart completely stopped.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Mr. Malfoy? You can come out now." He heard, and his heart completely stopped. _

Oh, crap. She was going to turn him in.

"Really, Mr. Malfoy, we both know that I know you are there. Please just come out."

He resigned himself to leaving his cone of safety, stiff muscles screaming their protest and needles shooting up his legs from disuse.

Cockily, he smirked at her, snapping back into a character he had long created for himself. "Why hello there, Headmistress. What can I do for you today?"

The middle aged witch barked a sarcastic laugh. "Cut the crap, Malfoy. We both know I can get you in a world of trouble right now. The ministry has been rounding up suspected Death Eaters, your parents included, and you've been hiding in that spot for about ten hours now."

"If you were going to turn me in, you would have already." He stated, sure of this thought.

The Headmistress narrowed her eyes at him, and just like it had when he was eleven years old, the stare made him squirm. There was something about her that made him want to please her. Call it her authority as a teacher—one of Hogwarts' strictest, or call it her inherit austere attitude that invoked his desire to be accepted into the elite. She took no crap; she only accepted the best of people. And he wanted her to see that potential in him.

Even as a student of the house in a rivalry with hers, he had secretly wanted to please her. At twelve he had found himself, on a number of occasions, spending up to three times as long on one of her essays as he had for the essays Snape, his own Head of House, handed out. He put a great deal of thought and effort into his work in her Transfiguration class, not that he would ever tell anyone else, on pain of death.

As far as everyone else in Slytherin went, Draco hated McGonagall and all that had to do with Gryffindor.

"Yes, but I can still call them back. No one would be surprised if a rogue Death Eater had hidden away." She let that sink in for a moment, then continued. "But, if you agree to my proposal, that won't be a problem."

"Your proposal?" He asked while trying to sound bored.

"Yes. I know you overheard my conversation with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. You are going to help me repair the school." She said this as an order, like it was already going to happen.

A startled Draco Malfoy quickly nixed any emotion he might have let slip. "Me? I'm the assistant you had in mind?"

"Why, yes. Yes, you are."

She then started walking away from him. After she got halfway down the hallway and realized he wasn't following, she made a vague gesture with her hand for him to catch up.

"Come along, we have much to do and little time to do it in."

"But—but—" he sputtered. "Where will I stay? How will we repair the castle if we can't use magic? Why are you letting me stay here? What are you going to do when the Ministry says I'm missing? What if—"

"Mr. Malfoy!" She cut him off, still moving down the hallway, with a reluctant Draco now moving behind her, "We will discuss that later. The only question that needs to be answered right now is by you: are you or are you not going to help?"

At her pointed look, Draco sighed. "You knew before you even asked me that I would help, Professor."

"And that is the first thing I've ever heard you say that was actually you, Draco."

This time he didn't even attempt to hide the surprise that filtered across his porcelain features. "Say what?"

McGonagall rolled her eyes, the first gesture Draco had ever seen her use that would intimate impatience. Really, the woman was full of patience. People just tended to forget that while she was teaching because she demanded the best.

"If you must know, I've always seen through that little act of yours." She stated rather plainly, like they both knew what she was talking about and it didn't even need to be said.

"What act? What are you talking about?"

Still briskly moving down the hallway, she half-turned her head to answer him. "The one where you act like you think you're better than everyone else. I can tell you just play that up, Draco. The boy who wrote those wonderful essays over six years of classes does not think muggle-borns are below him. The boy who wrote those essays does not believe in Pureblood supremacy. You were just a pawn in a much larger game. A leaf, if you will, caught in a gale."

Draco looked at her incredulously. She really saw all that? He barely even allowed himself to know the truth.

She continued on, brushing passed his incoherent thoughts. "And that is why I am allowing you to stay here. If I return you to the Ministry now, all they will see is a Death Eater—marked and everything. But, if I return you in a year's time… Well, then perhaps they will see what I can see: a young boy too scared for his own life, the lives of his family, and his way of life to act. Though, there's really not much you could have done. Even as a spy like Severus, there's not much you would be able to tell us that he hadn't already informed us of.

"No, it's best for you to stay here with me. When the school is complete, you'll have that under your belt. And the ministry will look bad in the press for arresting the boy who re-built Hogwarts. Even if they don't admit it, every single witch or wizard in England has a soft spot as far as this school is concerned. If they see that you cared enough about it to invest so much time into it, and furthermore under my tutelage, then they will be more inclined to forgive you."

"So, basically we're deceiving the whole world?"

"Not exactly. We're… influencing the truth. Because the truth is, you'll have re-built a wizarding monument. Death Eaters may have torn it down, but a young wizard with many heavy burdens took the time to mend the heart of England. Make no mistake, Hogwarts is the heart of England."

They were silent for another hallway or two. Draco followed his Headmistress mechanically, barely paying enough attention to know what floor they were on, let alone where they were headed. Eventually, they stopped in front of a blank space of wall. McGonagall then turned to him.

"One of your many questions earlier was where you would stay, if I recall correctly. You may stay here. The password is just your name for now. I didn't figure there was much point in naming a password when it was just the two of us. You may change it whenever you wish, though. Now, memorize where it is, because you won't have reason to come back here for a while. We must plan, first, and then make our attack."

"You make it sound like we're going to battle."

"In a way we are." She answered without really answering. "My office is just over there, let's adjourn there to talk. Come." And off they went again, feet slamming loudly in the too quiet halls, a tall youth and a wise witch—the unlikeliest of duos.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I forgot a disclaimer earlier. I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, their universe, or the plot of JK Rowling's wonderful books. ….Or the movies.**

**Please review and let me know what you think.**

McGonagall gave the password to the statue guarding the Headmistress's office stoically, "Serpens." After sensing Draco's confusion, she added, "Severus's idea of a sound password, may he rest in peace. My first order of business, after our meeting, is to change the password, and move all my personal items into the office."

Draco nodded to show he was listening, but didn't feel he had much to add to the conversation. He followed her up the spiral staircase, through the door and sat himself down in the chair opposite the large desk.

Draco had briefly been in the office very early in the year, on Death Eater business. Death Eater business, to him, meant that his father felt like a chat with Snape and forced Draco to tag along. Anyway, Draco recognized that the office had changed very little since Dumbledore's reign. McGonagall noticed as well.

"He seems to have kept things mostly as Albus had them, which works well for us, because that means I'll know where everything is."

She wasn't bothered by Draco's non-response. "I'd offer you tea, but I haven't quite figured out how to make it in here without resorting to asking the house elves. Unfortunately, they've all been given the year off. Too much temptation for them—they'd want to right the school, but wouldn't understand that magic must not be used."

That made sense to Draco. House elves were forever feeling guilty for leaving things unfinished; they would feel obligated to try to help fix the school.

"So, where should we start Professor?"

"First of all, let's begin with first names. Here it is just the two of us, and I'd like to feel like we are equals. Neither of us is going to have any friends to talk to—we'll only have each other. In this case, I'd like it if you would call me Minerva."

Draco tried to hide his reaction by examining his fingernails, a fact that didn't get passed McGonagall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile fondly at him. Since when did McGona—Minerva—ever smile _fondly_ at him?

"Alright. You've already been calling me Draco, anyway, so I guess I can call you—erm, Minerva."

"Good. Moving on, we both have places to sleep so we don't need to start there. However, we also have no house elves which means we're going to have to start with the kitchens. The magically filling storage cabinets will most likely still be working, I doubt if any of the fighting got that far into the school."

"Seems a little ridiculous to tickle the pear in the middle of a battle, anyway." Draco agreed.

"Yes, certainly. So let's begin there. Now, following the kitchens, we'll need to sort out the Great Hall. That's where most of the damage is and will probably take us the longest. What are your thoughts, Draco?" She asked, as he had begun getting a bit antsy and had something to say.

"I was just thinking we should add a memorial to the fallen, and maybe even a death plaque. All the people who died deserve for posterity to know why they died." He stated as though he were defying someone, which in a way he was.

He hadn't looked at her while he said it, though, so when he looked up a few seconds later to see how she took it, he was surprised to see that _fond _smile again.

"You know, Draco, it would have killed me during your tenure here at Hogwarts to admit that you were one of my two favorite students, but when you start saying things like that it's harder to care what the other houses would say at a Slytherin being my favorite." She said.

Was this whole surreal experience ever going to snap back into a normal universe? "Shh, don't tell anyone though."

Draco just gaped at her. To overcome his embarrassment, he doubled back to their plan. "After we've finished the Great Hall, we'd have to do student dorms. I hear Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in particular are pretty messed up. Then, students can't come back until the classrooms are finished, otherwise, where would they learn? So, those would follow." He really started to get into it then, and rode this train of thought. "After that, we'd need to do the auxiliary learning things, like the greenhouses and the library. After that'd just be whatever else needs to be touched up. Then you can re-apply the wards."

"Sounds good to me, Draco. Now, on to another topic that needs to be discussed. What are you planning on doing after the school is finished?"

"Erm, I guess I hadn't thought that far ahead, Headmistress."

"Minerva."

"Right. Minerva."

"And why haven't you? You need a plan, boy."

"Well, I guess because my plan consisted of me staying out of the Dark Lord's way while he rose to power and trying to stay alive as long as possible while inflicting as little pain as possible."

"Yes, well, that's no longer in your future thanks to Mr. Potter."

"I've only had a few hours to let it soak in, you know. Give me a bit to think on it."

"Fair enough. I'll ask you again in a week."

The two then spoke a bit longer about the logistics of cleaning house. How they would physically place the heavier items where they needed to go. Minerva looked at his sickly thin frame and suggested that maybe they look into muggle means. Draco took slight offense to that, but couldn't disagree. Minerva was too polite to come out and say it, though both of them were thinking it: Draco would not be strong enough to life the thousands of stone bricks that needed to be replaced back into the walls.

A few hours later found them knee deep in debris in the kitchens. Though their assumption that no one had broken into the kitchens was correct, the kitchens' re-stocking storage cupboards were organized so willy nilly by the house elves, that they would never be able to find what they were looking for. Thus, the two had spent the better part of the afternoon organizing the cupboards and trying to figure out how to cook the items.

"Look." Draco said, "This one says 'just add water.' But, how are we supposed to know how much water to add?"

Minerva shrugged, her own background giving her just enough knowledge to visit muggle-born students' parents but not enough to survive without magic.

"I guess we'll figure it out." She replied, too blasé for Draco's tastes.

"Won't that be quite the adventure." He mumbled under his breath.

A while later, a thought jumped into Draco's head. Why hadn't he thought of this before? "Minerva?"

"Yes, dear" He heard coming from his right, the older woman in the middle of trying to determine the difference between milk and condensed milk.

"Why can't we use magic to make the food? If the wards are only affected by magic used to alter the structure of Hogwarts, why can't we use magic to cook the food? Food doesn't have anything to do with walls."

The Headmistress looked thoughtful for a moment. Draco was still taken aback that she was taking his opinions and suggestions into consideration at all. No other adult in his life thus far had truly given him the respect of considering what he was saying. Everyone from his parents, to his godfather, to the Dark Lord, to his other teachers just pretended to listen and then did whatever they were going to do anyway. McGonagall, however, was actually listening to him. She would use her own way if she truly thought it was better, but gave credence to his thoughts as well. If his idea was the better, she was not afraid to admit it. He admired that about her.

"Yes, dear. You know, I hadn't even thought of it like that. I guess I got a bit excited about learning to do the cooking without magic, that I got a bit ahead of myself." She gave a quick laugh, and rolled her eyes at herself. Draco had never seen her this relaxed, and that of all that had happened in the last few h ours with her, made him the most uneasy. McGonagall was never relaxed.

"That's quite alright." The something in him that wanted to please her then spoke without his permission. "If you want, we can probably find time to cook it the muggle way every once in a while."

A true smile spread across her face then. It turned her strict, prim face into that of a completely different woman, a woman about thirty years younger.

"You're absolutely right, Draco. I would love that. We are never too old to learn something new. Remember that."

And that was the first of many lessons she taught him the first year.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Fair warning, this is likely full of mistakes. But I wanted to get this out! Hermione will come into things in the next chapter (hopefully), so bear with me! All this is important to the overall plot line.**

**I don't own anything.**

**Please leave me a review and let me know your thoughts, comments, suggestions, and criticisms. Thanks.**

The first week flew by in a whirl of sore muscles, badly cooked meals (even with magic!) and the same blurry lines of a shifting dynamic between two people. The first time he barked at her, with an ill timed, "What the bloody hell are you on about, woman? We can't leave the fucking apples there, they'll fucking rot!" He immediately tensed up, waiting for the fall out. In this strange bubble that Hogwarts had become, he had forgotten who he was talking to. Instead of the diatribe of how she was doing this to help him and didn't need to take this attitude from him that he had been expecting, Draco listened to her snarkily reply back, giving as good as she had received.

"What the bloody hell are _you_ on about, tyke? This is a magic school. These cupboards are self-filling. Don't you think they've been programmed to not let fruit '_fucking rot'_?" And with noting more than a sardonic look, she put him in his place.

Draco had been embarrassed, of his outburst and that he had said such a naughty thing under false assumptions. As he was about to apologize—something he loathed doing, McGonagall caught him off guard—again.

She starting humming. She starting humming, and went back to sorting the fruit like absolutely nothing had just happened. It was "Danny Boy" too. No shame.

But many stranger things had happened in the last few days, so Draco let it roll off him like water off a duck (a saying he had found tremendously funny in a Muggle Studies book he had stolen off a fourth year). So he resumed sorting as well.

He hadn't given it much thought that first night he'd spent in his new rooms, but if he known about this situation before he was thrust into it, he wouldn't have thought they'd get along as well as they did. Out of sheer boredom, they'd talk about many things while working. Draco was reluctant at first. After all, this was a woman sixty years older than him, of a different House and Scottish, too. What could they possibly have to talk about besides the war? And Draco certainly did not want to talk about that.

So it was a pleasant surprise their second day in the kitchens when they found they had much in common. Minerva quizzed him over everything he had learned in his six years at Hogwarts—from all subjects (excluding Divination as neither of them cared much for it). As they went on for a few hours, they began discussing Transfiguration exclusively.

"…and that's how Earl's Second Objective fits into the Praylongth Theorem." Minerva finished up her explanation to a receptive Draco. "So, Draco, have you given any more thought as to what you want to do after you've finished up here?"

He shouldn't have been surprised. She said she would give him a week and Minerva always—always—was prompt. Still, though, he hadn't given it another thought since she'd mentioned it.

"Er, no, actually, I hadn't." He said, while rummaging through debris in the Great Hall. They were sorting all the fallen bricks into sections based on where they thought they went in the wall. Draco had been given the task of all the heavy lifting—something he very much resented his companion for, as she was probably stronger than him at this point.

His scrawny arms struggled to lift one of the last boulders for the day when his professor replied, "Well, I have, and I think I have a plan for you if you're willing to hear it."

Still half carrying, half dragging the large rock, he managed to get out, "Alright. Can't hurt to hear my options, I guess. Can you just—"

He gestured to the other end of the rock, and she took his meaning immediately. "Oh, of course, sorry, dear." With both of them, the gigantic piece of wall doubled its speed toward its proper pile. "What if—" She took a deep breath, her lungs overtaxed at her physical effort, "What if you took your N.E.W.T.s in a few months? You're a smart boy and have the drive and motivation to be prepared that soon."

They finally made it to the pile. Draco stood up straight, his back aching from hours of hard labor. "Take my N.E.W.T.s? What for? No one is going to want to hire me. Not that I need the money, anyway. I don't see the point in taking them when I won't need them for anything. I doubt they'd even let me sit them without a whole seventh year class taking them with me. Besides, I'm restoring the castle with—"

"With me, yes. I, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, the best school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the entire world. You think that has no sway at the Ministry? I could get them to let you take them."

"Once again…why? Why would I need them, and why would you do that for me? Especially since you're already planning on using your influence to get them to let me off. In fact, the more I think about it the less sense it makes. Why are you even doing this much for me? I just don't understand."

"Calm down, Draco."

"No, I can't. Why are you doing this? Why are you torturing me like this?"

"Torturing you?"

"Yeah, torturing me! There's nothing worse to a Slytherin than an altruistic gesture between enemies. It makes us feel like dicks."

"Well most of the time you Slytherins are dicks, you know."

_The word 'dick' just came out of the Headmistress' mouth. Will wonders never cease_? He thought to himself.

"Will it make you feel better if I told you my actions weren't completely altruistic?" She said after he hadn't responded.

"Yes."He said after a brief pause. "Explain, please."

"Okay. I wasn't going to tell you for a while, and certainly not in the first week, but under the circumstances…" She trailed off, looking pensive.

With an exasperated sigh, he prodded her, "Go on."

"Oh. Right. Now that I'm the Headmistress, I won't be able to teach Transfiguration. That's where you come in. When I noticed you hiding that day, I had to think very quickly. At first I was so angry with you—you gave into the pressure of the Death Eaters and I was so ashamed that you were my favorite student. But then I had to think only a little longer to realize that I couldn't judge you for that. No one knows how they will react in situation until they are placed in it. You grew up with so much hate—hate for muggle-borns, hate for those lesser than you. That's what you lived and breathed.

I enjoyed reading your first few essays, so thoroughly researched, so cleverly infused with your personality. I'm not sure if you even realize how much of yourself you put into your words. After reading each one, I'd feel like I knew you. I'd feel like we had just had a deep conversation. And the boy that I knew did not needlessly hate people. The boy I got to know had an excellent sense of logic and reasoning. He could work things out for himself, and work things out that other people couldn't. He was, and is, a natural at Transfiguration.

So, when all the Death Eaters were being taken away, I started thinking about how I would need to find another Transfiguration Professor eventually. Then I saw you there and it all just fell into place. You! You, Draco. The Transfiguration post needs someone who can fill it with youthful energy, someone who can bring passion to the subject. Most importantly, it needs someone who understands it completely—loves it even. And you do, Draco, do you not?"

"No, I do." He answered. He couldn't look at her while he said it though. "People assumed Potions was my favorite subject, and I never corrected them. But it's always been Transfiguration for me. I even dumbed myself down a bit, let Granger shine, just so no one would suspect."

When she replied he could practically hear her smiling that fond smile again. "I figured as much. Especially when you faked it so horribly. Really, now, you'd try it three or four times with nothing happening, wait until someone else in the class achieved it, then yours would be perfect on the next attempt. You really weren't kidding anyone. Irregardless, your Outstanding O.W.L. spoke for itself. I was very proud of you for that."

Never had someone being proud of him affected him as much as it did now. He worked bloody hard for that grade, highest grade on a Transfiguration O.W.L. since Dumbledore himself. When his parents saw it, his father told him he shouldn't have wasted so much time studying for one O.W.L. when he could have been practicing his flying so as to finally defeat Potter.

But she was proud. Minerva knew how hard he worked, she understood. It was finally okay for him to be proud of his own grades, his own actions. He felt himself smiling, such a rare phenomenon these last few years for him.

"Thank you, Minerva. That means quite a lot to me."

"It was your hard work, you did it on your own. And it's precisely because of your motivation, hard work, and natural flair for the subject that I would like you to teach here. I want you to take over the Post when the school is finished."

"I—Thank you, Minerva. I suppose I accept. I'm not sure if I'll stay here for long, but I'll take over for the first year at least."

"Thank you. Oh, that's such a weight off my shoulders. I'm not sure how you Slytherins do this manipulation stuff. It's quite draining."

"Plotting gets easier with practice." He told her, half serious. "So I assumed that's the reason why you want me to sit my N.E.W.T.s?"

"Well, yes, it's hard to accept a teacher to teach N.E.W.T.-level when he hasn't even completed his own."

"That's a fair point."

"If you'd like, I am willing to tutor you myself. We have all this time ahead of us, we might as well make the most of it. I'll give you a few books to read and you can read them in whatever spare time you manage to find. Then we shall discuss them in depth. So no skimming! Come on back to my office. I'll get you those books, and perhaps a cup of tea wouldn't be remiss. I think I've finally figured out the…erm, kettle I think it's called."

So far none of Minerva's "cooking" had been edible. Draco braced himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Avid Readers, so sorry. I got distracted by the latest chapter of my other story, Saving Him, and then got lazy and forgot about this little piece. I'll keep more regular updates from now on. Promise.**

**I don't own anything. So don't sue.**

**Also, please put up with the shenanigans of Minerva and Draco, but their friendship needs to be well established for the rest of the story. Don't worry, we're about to get a peek at what old Hermione's been up to, also. Next chapter.**

Months passed in that fashion. In the early days, they took breaks from their manual labor to research into muggle ways of fixing walls. Draco even went so far, at Minerva's insistence, to volunteer for a muggle construction company in order to be sure that they knew how to do it properly. He spent the entire week in equal parts fear and awe. He avoided giving himself away by playing the silent stranger part. Though he burned to ask questions—thousands of questions—about what they were doing, why, how it worked, he kept silent and acted like he already knew.

But when he got back to Hogwarts, he exhausted the meager Muggle Studies section of the still blemished library searching for his answers.

Once the two of them got the hang of it, Draco and Minerva spent hours together in the kind of quiet companionship that came from years of knowing each other. Not that they spent all their time in silence. Oftentimes, they could be found discussing _Transfiguration Today_, their favorite Transfiguration magazine. Occasionally they even delved into theory-based assumptions of combining the principles of Transfiguration with the other subjects—Potions being their favorite to discuss.

Minerva knew a surprising amount about Potions. Draco could never quite bring himself to ask her if she was interested in the subject, or if she took the "know thy enemy" approach with Snape a little too far. He wouldn't put it passed her.

During mealtimes, Minerva's own concoctions slowly getting closer to edible, they practiced for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s. Draco had until the first of February to prepare. That gave him a little under seven months to learn everything from his sixth year (that he barely remembers due to stress and apathy) and his seventh year.

They both felt he would ace his Transfiguration and Potions N.E.W.T.s already, with little guidance, but his Charms work was deplorable. In a fit of inspiration, Minerva made him eat entirely with his wand. He had to charm the food into small enough bites, then levitate it to his mouth. While this was ghastly for someone growing up in a very strict household where manners were revered even above the Dark Lord, Draco succumbed and eventually began to have fun while Minerva challenged him in different ways.

One memorable lunch, she had charmed all his food to be the wrong color, among other charms. Before he could eat, he had to identify each of them and tell her what he had eaten.

If he had told anyone that story, it would have sounded so ridiculous that they wouldn't have believed him. He wouldn't have believed him. But, somehow Minerva's stern-side had eroded away and he couldn't help but laugh at her "games."

Quickly she was becoming a beloved maternal figure—one that his own mother could never quite achieve. Whether that was due to Narcissa's inherent inability, or the dark cloud of the Dark Lord hovering over their Manor was up in the air.

But, regardless, Draco found himself depending on Minerva in a way he hadn't depended on an adult figure for years. He enjoyed knowing someone was watching over him—a keen eye meticulously tracking how many vegetables he was eating. No one ever cared if he had eaten enough broccoli. Though a large part of him knew he should hate the demotion of independence, the other part of him basked in it and said to hell with independence, for now.

The two of them were healing—slowly—and right now she was all the help he had, more than he thought he'd wind up with when he was up on the Astronomy Tower so many hard months ago. She fussed over him, challenged him, wound him up, and there was no denying all that. But she was also there to catch him when he fell.

It was her maternal embrace that comforted him after his nightmares, it was her flattery that coaxed his ego back into place, and it was her encouragement and belief in him that kept him getting up in the mornings. Not to mention the whole harboring-him-illegally thing.

Yes, Minerva was his entire support system. But it went both ways. Draco saw more of her emotional side than he thought anyone had…possibly ever. Minerva McGonagall was well known for her propriety and straight-laced attitude. She fought voraciously for her 'cubs,' as Dumbledore called her charges, but she hid her surplus emotions just as well as the most stoic of Slytherins.

In that way, Draco could definitely relate to her. Thinking of her suppressed emotions as a Slytherin trait allowed him to figure out a good way of helping her release them. He knew she was hurting over the war—losing so many good friends. Not to mention the guilt of treating Snape so horribly the entire last year when he was almost single-handedly winning the war (well, Potter did help a little, he supposed). All the guilt and grief were building up inside her and she wouldn't let them out for months.

Draco knew from experience that those emotions would eventually explode out like a volcano, all toxic fumes and rock so hot it was liquid. Theodore Nott was once such type that suppressed emotion. One day in fifth year, he had kept so many things inside for so long that he ended up destroying the Slytherin Common Room and half of his own sanity. He still tried to talk to his socks sometimes. Draco would not let Minerva McGonagall end up talking to her own socks just because she couldn't allow herself to let go of some of her pain.

A month before his upcoming trial, he could sense her unrest rise exponentially and decided it was finally time to act. But she broke before his plan could even be put into action.

He met up with her in the kitchens, already laid out with their usual fare—he had cooked her eggs himself. She walked in a few minutes later than their usual meeting time. Draco immediately knew something was up with her, something was…off… about her aura.

She looked up into his eyes, and his heart broke for her. The pain built up too much and seeped insidiously into her grey eyes. Her grief was tangible. Without much forethought, Draco bounded across the large kitchens to grab her into a hug. She put up no resistance, melting into his embrace, almost as if he had granted her permission to break down by acknowledging her weakness. She sobbed.

He had never had to comfort a sobbing woman before in his entire eighteen years. But this was Minerva, and so he followed her example. When she had found him sobbing earlier in their adventure, she had comforted him excellently—no false platitudes or unwanted advice. She was just there for him, so now he would be here for her.

"Remus and Tonks… th-th-they're gone. Just gone." She choked out, unaware she was even talking. "And the Creevy boy. And F-F-Fred. Oh, Fred! I n-n-n-never told h-him, but I a-a-adored his j-j-jokes. Called me M-M-M-Minnie, he d-did." She went on, lamenting the dead, freeing them by talking about them.

He ran his hand over her back soothingly, whispering anything that struck him. Phrases like "Cry for them, Minerva," and "let it out, you're all right with me" flew off his tongue in a manner that surprised him. He actually sounded soothing.

A minute, an hour, or a day went by until she began to calm down. "I feel the worst about S-Severus, Draco."

"I know you do, Minerva." She looked surprised.

"How could you know that, boy?"

"I know you." She gave him a half-hearted glare that did nothing to him, her tear soaked face wasn't menacing in the least. But, he did feel a bit sorry for her right now so he gave in. "And I've been observing you. There's not much else to look at and take notice of here, you know. You may not even notice some of the things you do, but they say a lot about your thoughts. You go out of your way to avoid talking about him. Even when we talk about my school days, you say 'your head of house,' or some other way of saying his name. 'The Potions Professor.' But, what really gave you away was how you fixed his spot in the Great Hall. You'll remember that I left you to sort the Head Table, while I began the House Tables. When you did the repairs to his chair and spot at the table, before he was Headmaster, mind, you did it with such reverence and guilt on your face. I wasn't even aware that combination could occur. The things you teach me, eh Minerva?"

She looked sheepish, "You're a lot smarter than you put on, Draco."

"But you already knew that." He responded with a smile, finding them easier to come by as time went on.

"Come along boy, let's eat. Then we have work to do." And just like that the fearsome Headmistress was back.


	6. Chapter 6

**An Anatomy of a World: Chapter 6**

**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter's universe or the movies based on the novels that I also do not own.**

**Sorry I've neglected this little fic-let.**

With the N.E.W.T.s coming up on the first of February, Draco found himself beginning to suffer minor anxiety pains. Sure, he had about three months left to prepare, but he had never felt like his entire future depended on one week's worth of examinations.

Draco was not new to pressure: of the peer variety, the forces of evil sleeping two bedrooms over, recreational (quidditch games), but above all, familial pressure.

He was new to academic pressure, though. Draco had spent an inordinate amount of time on his Transfiguration grade out of pure love of the subject and his respect for its teacher, but he never struggled with the material. He aced every exam he ever sat, some with better results than others, but always his confidence brought him away with spectacular marks, excepting Charms in which they were merely "Acceptable."

So the thought that his entire future plans relied on this one week in early February brought sweat to his pale skin and a heavy rock to take up residence in his chest. Draco had only been fearful of failure once before in his young life, his infamous sixth year and the Dark Lord's suicide mission. His own life, as well as the lives of his parents, were at stake if he failed—an incomprehensible pressure. That pressure brought him to Myrtle's bathroom sobbing, and nightmares that still made their way into his psyche even to this day. Still, it was a very different sort of pressure to the type he was experiencing now.

His future depended on this—Minerva's future depended on this. She was counting on him and he couldn't let her down. If he clammed up on his N.E.W.T. and buggered it all up, she was out of her first choice teacher. Not only that, but he couldn't bear her disappointment if he got a T.

He would have to give up his magic and move to the North Pole if that circumstance occurred. The shame alone would kill him, nevermind the sub-zero temperatures.

So, while he felt this constant push—almost like a giant had taken him into its large hand and was squeezing the breath out of him—he tried to focus himself on preparation.

If he was prepared enough, he couldn't possibly fail. If he could recite terms and theories without even having to think about them, then his addled brain could function off autopilot if he happened to be overcome with nerves.

At least, that's what he was hoping for.

Hey, it always worked for Granger.

**Verona, Italy**

"Do we have to?"

She rolled her eyes. He had been complaining non-stop about her side trip to Verona. Harry got to choose the last four countries they visited, but she couldn't have just one week of her choice?

"Yes, Harry, we do." She said, matter-of-factly. "You can't possibly understand how dear this city is to my heart. I'll have you know that Romeo and Juliet is my second favorite Shakespearean play. I couldn't possibly _not_ go see the city."

They were on their way to Juliet's famous balcony, and Hermione could barely contain her enthusiasm to Harry's dismay and confusion.

"All this for just your second favorite?" He asked wryly, poking a bit of fun at her pompous tone.

She accepted his barb with a roll of her eyes and a self-conscious smile. "I just really want to see some of these monuments. Even just being here, taking the city in, getting a feel for the energy—I feel like it puts the play in a completely new perspective." She said brightly. After a brief pause, she added with more excitement, "I'll have to re-read it again after we go!"

"Hermione, you just finished it because you knew we were coming here." Harry whined. "Now you want to read it again after we leave?"

He wouldn't understand. Harry was her brother in all but blood, but he could never understand certain things about her. Truthfully, she would never understand some things about him as well. Like Quidditch. She decided to diffuse the tension a bit with a joke.

"What can I say? It's a sickness."

He smiled, as she knew he would, and they went on.

They took the short walk down the lush Verona streets in silence. Hermione found herself reminiscing on how they had gotten to this point. Like they told Professor McGonagall those seven months ago, they began in Australia. It took a few weeks of searching for Wendell and Monica Wilkins before Harry had the bright idea of searching for them on the internet at the local library. His idea had merit, and Hermione was ashamed to admit she was a bit jealous that she hadn't thought of it—and Harry wouldn't let her forget it was his idea.

The next week they spent with Hermione's parents in tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Her parents didn't understand, couldn't understand. But they loved her, and while it would take years to recover their trust fully, they still loved her and practically shanghaied Harry and Hermione into staying with them for a few weeks while they explored Australia.

And explore they did, leaving no stone unturned. If they felt like seeing something, they did. If something "touristy" did not appeal to them, they skipped it. It was absolute freedom, and Harry and Hermione loved it.

The best part was staying in fancy hotels. Harry skimmed a bit of money off the top of his Black inheritance (after all, how many world tours would he ever take?) and they splurged. Living with Harry in a cramped tent for ten months and living with Harry in posh five star hotels were two very different enterprises, as Hermione came to find. But, they found a comfortable system—one modified from their time last year—and co-habitated in a way that only family can do.

After Australia, Harry decided he wanted to see China. Hermione wasn't quite sure, but she thought it had something to do with Cho Chang. Not that he had any feelings for her after all this time, but because her ancestry had always intrigued him. So they went to China.

After a month in China they crossed over the ocean to Japan. Japan by far was their favorite, and it showed in the amount of time they stayed there. Three months after setting foot in Tokyo, Harry and Hermione went off to Greece. Followed in quick succession by Turkey, Jordan, U.S.A., Mexico, and France. Finally, in France, Hermione decided it was her turn to choose a place. Harry acquiesced quietly and the next day they found themselves looking at a rotten old banana peel infused with enough port-key magic to take them to Verona.

Hermione smiled to herself. Things were going quite well. Ron was keeping his grieving family together, and she was keeping a shell-shocked Harry together. In her heart of hearts she realized she easily got the better deal out of the two. For one, Harry was dealing quite well. For another, Molly Weasley's hugs were notoriously harder when she was upset. And a Molly in mourning would make a Hermione-flavored pancake very quickly.

Hermione looked to her friend; he was walking down the pavement alongside her. No one stared at them in awe, no one bothered them for autographs, or to speak to them like they were old buddies. Harry had always hated his famous name, and here alone at the end of the world they could escape it for a time—until things started to die down a bit in England.

And things in England _were_ starting to return to normal. Headmistress McGonagall had sent her an owl just the other day. She and the mysterious assistant were making a fair amount of progress. The kitchen was sorted out and they had plans for fixing the more intense of the damage. Unfortunately, the school would not open until September—making about sixteen months of hard labor for the Headmistress and her helper. She shook her head. The professor knew what she was doing. Just as she had a role in the war, she had a role in the after-math as well. Harry needed her more than McGonagall did, and Hermione knew her place.

Besides, she only had to wait ten months until she could return to Hogwarts for her final year. Boy, was she excited.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make a profit from this.**

…**. **

**March 31, Hogwarts**

After dinner that night, Draco retired to his room for some last minute studying. Minerva had been putting up with his erratic behavior all day—putting things in the wrong place, leaving dangerous things out in the open, wool gathering so intense she could barely shake him out of it. Hours of cramming later, he didn't even hear her slip into his quarters.

"Draco!" Minerva shouted. The man in question looked up from his panic-ridden pacing to meet her warm grey eyes. "Draco, calm yourself. You have all of the knowledge for the N.E.W.T.s and all of the intelligence to use it. The only thing you don't have right now is some sense." She pushed his chest lightly, forcing the back of his knees into the comfortable chair in the corner of his private sitting rooms.

"Now sit down, take a few deep breaths, and relax. Otherwise I'm going to force a Calming Draught down your throat, and with Severus gone there's no telling how old those things are."

The three months leading up to his final exams flew by. The castle was looking better day by day. It was a subtle change. Sometimes all they did was put things from one pile into another. Those days Draco felt—and rather thought Minerva agreed with him—that they would never finish this stupid project.

But Draco had been thinking lately, drawing from his time with the muggle construction company and a seedling of an idea had burrowed into his brain. He had been waiting for a good time to slip it into conversation with Minerva, and now seemed as good a time as any. At least his worried mind would be off of the exams for a few precious minutes.

"Hey, Minerva" He began, testing her receptiveness.

She responded from the chair next to him, "Wotcher, Draco."

He had to smile at that. She was forever surprising him. Keeping her stern personality just long enough so that she could surprise him by slipping out something so completely opposite to that persona. She loved it, and from her mischievous smiles, he could assume she knew that he loved it too.

"I've had an idea."

"An idea? Are you going to share it with me?"

"If you had given me a second to breathe, woman, I would have gone on." He replied with exasperation, but keeping the smile to show he wasn't too serious.

In response she made a sweeping gesture with her hand, a bit sarcastically. "Well, by all means, child."

"Well, as we both know, Hogwarts cannot be rebuilt with magic while the wards are down because of the nature of the wards. Everything would crumble again once the wards were re-applied."

"Yes, go on." She smiled encouragingly.

"Okay here I go." He bit his lip, and leaned forward onto his knees. Minerva unconsciously mirrored the motion, and now they were nose to nose. "What if we hire a muggle construction team? We tell them the castle is a ruin and you are the new owner, and you want to fix it up and make it a tourist destination. They have infinitely more knowledge on how to re-build without magic, and can't use it even on accident. It's perfect." He could see her thinking the idea through, coming at it from all angles her broad Gryffindor mind could come up with. At this thought, Draco's more Slytherin tendencies made their way to the forefront. "And just in case anything goes wrong, we can obliviate them afterwards if we need to. Though, I'd rather not obliviate anyone. But that could just be a very last resort. An ace in our sleeve, if you will."

The Headmistress still hadn't said anything. She looked at him quizzically, the light from his fireplace making shadows dance across her wrinkles.

"Well what do you think?"

She opened her mouth to speak, and Draco had never paid so much attention to what someone else might say.

"I rather think it's a brilliant idea."

He blinked owlishly. "Really?"

"Oh do close your mouth, dear. I am perfectly capable of recognizing an ingenious idea when I hear one. I just wish you had thought of it before. Tomorrow while you are sitting your exams—" Draco cringed, having just remembered that small detail— "I will make all the arrangements. Do give me the name of that company you worked with, I'll be sure to use them as our first choice." Her young companion smiled broadly.

"Oh, and Draco…"

"Yes, Minerva?"

The older woman seemed hesitant to continue, but decided to go on anyway, "While we are having a serious chat, I should warn you that the Ministry has taken notice of your presence here. I have assured them that you are under mine and the school's protection, but they will not let it go. I'm sorry to say that next week they will be holding your trial The very day after your exams, actually. I did get them to make a smaller production of it: no media, no audience—just you, me, and Minister Shacklebolt's inner circle."

Draco could feel his face losing color, and it didn't have much color to begin with. "My trial?"

"Yes, child, surely you didn't forget about that measly little detail did you?" Her voice carried a hint of mock scolding, but he knew better than to take her seriously.

"I've quite put it out of my mind, to be honest."

"I was going to wait to tell you, what with the worrying and the panicking over your N.E.W.T.s, but this seemed a good time to slip it in. I don't want you to be wholly unprepared mentally."

"Oh yes, yes, I understand," said a voice that seemed to be coming from him.

She stood up, a bit awkwardly, and began towards the door. "Well I suppose I should let you get some rest, then. We have a long day tomorrow, the both of us." She stole a side-long look at his face and rolled her eyes playfully. "Seriously, Draco, I feel like I am talking to Miss. Granger."

The revulsion at this thought snapped him back to himself. "Minerva! There's no need to be insulting."

She just smiled her maternal smile, eyes twinkling a bit, and went to turn the knob of the door.

But before she could, Draco burst out, "Wait!"

"Yes, dear?"

Then in a small voice, he confessed, "I think I might want that Calming Draught if you don't mind."

And with a flick of her wand, a small vial came tearing towards him. She gave one last shake of her head and slipped out the door.


End file.
